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February 14, 2008
At his funeral, my cousin mourned her “Poppop”. I never knew him as anything but “Grandpop”, but even that was pushing it insofar as familiarity and warmth were concerned. This beast was the antithesis of the grandfather I did call “Poppop”, my mother’s father, who had died several years earlier. I preferred to think of this stranger merely as “Jack”, a portly bald bigot who couldn’t have been less grandfatherly if he tried.

He didn’t try on any level. Unless you count spitting in my mother’s face at my brother’s bar mitzvah “trying”.

And I didn’t even try to cry.